—HEY THERE, MR. BLUE

 

 

F   r   i   d   a   y,     #   4

 

 

This Friday reminds me of the summer my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, a weak trickle of Cabernet slowly slaking over my upper lip, zig-zagging from cheek to chin like a bolt of lightning. I had one friend whose dad was a doctor and he cauterized my nostrils with some kind of branding tool. The blood stopped for a spell, but then came back before each weekend, a liquid taunt, Friday’s cousin or curse.